


the fire is so delightful

by liionne



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, legit all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s 42 degrees, Pat. 42 degrees.” He hisses, when Patroclus comes him from his shift at the hospital to find Achilles wrapped up in an unbelievably large jumper, a blanket, his hat, scarf, and gloves. With the thermostat turned right the way up.</p><p>“You’re ridiculous,” Pat tells him, pressing a kiss to Achilles’ forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fire is so delightful

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistakes, as unbeta'd. Also apologies in the characterisation department; I'm still getting a grip on these two losers. And no, this is not directly connected with my other college!verse fic- I actually like the idea of this college verse a bit better, maybe. I don't know.
> 
> And I'm sorry if the bit about the weather in LA is wrong; I'm English. It's cold all the time here, so I used some artistic license.

Achilles loves Christmas. He does, he loves it; he spent his Christmases in a house full of boys, all of them running round and screaming, opening gifts whilst his father watched on from the sofa, his attempt to give something back to the community he had made his fortune from manifesting in a foster home for boys after his wife, Achilles’ mother, had left. They would open their gifts and run out from the back porch onto the beach, because even in winter it was warm enough in LA to still be able to use the beach on Christmas day. They would spend the day alternating between the sand and the waves and eating good food, falling asleep in the living room and waking up on boxing day under the twinkling lights.

But that was Christmas in California. And now? Now, Achilles is celebrating Christmas in New York, having elected to stay with his boyfriend rather than go home like he did last year. And honestly?

He thinks he’s going to die.

“It’s 42 degrees, Pat. _42 degrees_.” He hisses, when Patroclus comes him from his shift at the hospital to find Achilles wrapped up in an unbelievably large jumper, a blanket, his hat, scarf, and gloves. With the thermostat turned right the way up.

“You’re ridiculous,” Pat tells him, pressing a kiss to Achilles’ forehead as he goes to have a shower, and it’s either the promise of a naked Patroclus or warm water, or maybe both, that gets the little bundle of blankets and wool and golden curls to shift his ass from the couch and trail him to the bathroom.

Achilles knows Patroclus likes having him there, though. In their Sophomore year Pat had neglected to tell Achilles of his lack of a family, so Achilles had jetted off home for Christmas and come back to find that Pat had stayed in his dorm room, alone, eating Chinese take out in substitute for a proper Christmas dinner.

Achilles vowed right then and there not to let that happen ever again.

And he can see it; he can see the change. In the weeks running up to Christmas last year, Pat had been somewhat quiet, like he was when they had first met, not like they were as a couple; Pat was never quiet, talking about so many things, making jokes and conversation with Achilles. He had been so… _withdrawn_. Killie had been worried. Pat had assured him it was nothing.

But this Christmas, Pat is all smiles, all excited chatter, like usual. He has moments where he stares off into space, at the holly decorating the mantle piece or a bauble on the tree, but Achilles knows to simply kiss him, and everything will be alright again.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Achilles is absolutely freezing cold at least 80% of the time.

His teeth chatter as he looks down at the page in front of him, analysing the Aeneid or something, he’s not sure, he’s not paying attention, when he hears Pat huff beside him. It’s Christmas Eve, Elf playing the background as the two of them work, a quiet night for them both; college isn’t easy, and they might as well spend the night studying. But he knows he’s being a nuisance, and when Killie looks up he finds Patroclus looking down at him, ipad in his lap, video on pause. Patroclus sets it aside carefully, and then he looks to Achilles. Achilles can see a video open on youtube, some sort of surgery, and he immediately feels a pang of guilt for interrupting his boyfriend’s work. But then Patroclus is getting out from under the blanket and tugging him towards the fire (because they have an actual real-life fire, seeing as their apartment building is /two thousand years old - an exaggeration, sure, but it feels that way sometimes) , bringing the blankets with them.

Achilles, of course, follows, just as Patroclus would follow him if their positions were reversed.

It’s Pat who arranges them, and Killie goes pliant beneath his hands, follows his direction. Patroclus pulls him in between his legs, Achilles’ back to his chest, the blanket wrapped around them somewhat awkwardly; not that it matters, with the fire raging in front of them. It’s a good fire, all things considered. Killie can already feel himself warming up, golden skin flushing pink the warmer he becomes. Achilles smiles, and leans back into Patroclus, temple resting against his cheek.

“You didn’t have to stay with me, you know.” He murmurs, and Achilles pulls back a way so he can see him, a frown tugging his lips down.

“You wouldn’t come back home with me.” He states.

Pat flushes. “I wasn’t going to crash your family Christmas.”

“You’re part of the family, now.” Achilles says. “You wouldn’t be crashing _anything_.”

That makes Pat flush even darker. Killie smiles.

“I’m happy right here, anyway.” He adds, like an after thought, and he feels Patroclus smile as he turns and presses a kiss to the halo of curls that are shimmering somewhat in the firelight.

Elf has been forgotten where it plays on their television, reaching some sort of climax that neither of them care about, far too wrapped up in one another to be paying an awful lot of attention. Achilles turns his head, noses at Patroclus’ skin and then smiles, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It’s soft; sweet. It’s just what it needs to be.

“Next Christmas,” Achilles murmurs. “Next Christmas we’ll go home. The two of us.”

“Achilles-” Pat begins, but Achilles shakes his head, curls brushing Pat’s skin.

“No.” He murmurs. “We can stay here if you want to; if you really want to. But I want you there, and I know my father wants to meet you. He’s said as much. And really, Christmas on the beach is far better than this.” He tacks on the end, in an effort to get his point across but change the subject in one fell swoop, killing two birds with one stone.

Patroclus pauses, lips falling open as if to speak, but no sound coming out. For a moment, Killie is worried. But then he feels Patroclus deflate, and he knows that it’s okay.

“Far better than what? Cuddling in front of the fire?”

Achilles grins, and, deciding he’s warm enough, he turns around to straddles Patroclus’ waist, legs wrapping around is middle, blanket now covering his back. He has much easier access to Pat’s face this way, his lips, his eyes. He chuckles, head shaking, curls bouncing.

“Than freezing my ass off.” He says, arms winding around Pat’s neck. Fingers curl in the short dark hair at the nape of his neck, lips hovering over his as he speaks, feeling them brush over one another.

Patroclus chuckles, nose bumping Achilles’. “You feel a lot warmer.” He says, hands ghosting over Achilles’ sides.

“Thanks to you.” Killie murmurs, nodding in agreement. He leans down, closing the gap between them that was almost never there anyway, and when their lips join, he sighs softly, contently. It’s tender, soft, full of the _love_ he feels whenever he looks at Patroclus, whenever they’re in the same space, the same _room_. It’s almost too much. He pulls away, their foreheads knocking, and he smiles, “Merry christmas, Patroclus.”

“Merry Christmas, Killie.” His boyfriend says in return, and then they’re kissing again, work forgotten as they get lost in each other.


End file.
